


Drabbles

by CaptainCritical



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:52:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCritical/pseuds/CaptainCritical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An amalgam of drabbles collected from my Tumblr account. May range from the fluffiest of fluff to the crackiest of crack, and everywhere in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matches

**Author's Note:**

> For smokiquartz, who wanted an explanation as to how there are always lit candles in the caves we enter in video games.

Fenris grumbles low in his throat when a spark flies at him from the fire, batting the air impatiently with his left hand before going back to his pack, digging for something. To his right, Merrill perches daintily on a found log, humming a tune softly to herself. In an unlikely harmony, Hawke snores gently from behind the two of them. Anders tries not to giggle when Fenris turns and shoots the man an unheeded glare.

“Is there something bothering you, Fenris?” Merrill chances, either hoping for a rare glimpse of civility or simply not caring that all the elf seems to have for her are bitter rebuttals.

“You’re bothering me,” he responds under his breath in typical fashion, then apparently decides to humour her. “Why should you care?”

“You seem grumpier than usual,” she suggests, and for some sadly endearing reason, actually looks concerned. Anders wonders for the hundredth time how someone who consorts with demons on a regular basis can be so sweet. “You cut a slaver in half today without so much as a satisfied grin.”

“Occasionally I bore of such things,” Fenris mutters dismissively, then throws his pack aside with a characteristic sound of disgust. Anders considers asking him if he’d be willing to add ‘pfaugh’ in cursive to his already extensive collection of tattoos, but thinks better of it at the last moment. Instead, he watches as the elf curls in on himself and stares into the flames that separate them.

“What were you looking for?” Anders asks eventually, curiosity winning out over logic.

“It’s none of your concern,” Fenris snaps, viridian eyes flashing impatience.

Anders rolls his eyes. “Maker forbid I offer to help you. I might have whatever it is in my own pack.”

Fenris speaks to the fire. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need them any longer.”

“Need what?” Merrill chimes in, and Fenris turns to share his glare with her.

“Hawke asked me for matches earlier. When I went looking, mine were gone. They must have fallen out of my pack.”

Merrill’s face goes suspiciously blank. “Maybe someone borrowed them,” she suggests awkwardly. Anders thinks there’s a reason why she owes Isabela and Varric so much coin.

“Someone?” Fenris asks through clenched teeth, rising to his feet and brushing unconsciously at the dirt that clings to his leggings. “What use would you have for my matches?”

“I only used a few of them,” Merrill mumbles, fishing through her pouches and presenting the matchbox back to him half-empty. “I was going to replace them, I swear.”

Fenris swipes the box from her open hand and marches hastily back to where his pack rests before throwing them down. “I don’t know what you did with them and I don’t care. Do not touch my things again,” he warns.

“I only lit a few candles so that people can see if they get lost in the caves!” Merrill protests, her argument falling on deaf ears. Fenris fastens his sword to his back as he strides angrily away. 

For a moment she simply sits there, pursing her lips in frustrated contemplation. When she turns back, she looks proudly at Anders. “He’s angry now, but he’ll be grateful that he can see when he gets attacked by spiders.”


	2. An Unlikely Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anonymous prompter on Tumblr, who asked for "Fenders, Basorexia".

“You’re kidding,” Anders protests, trying his best to convey incredulity but failing in the face of something so fatally adorable. The tiny black kitten in his lap parts its jaws once more in a yawn far too big for its emaciated body and he smiles widely, unable to help himself. “Big yawn, little kitten!” He babbles in a voice he knows he shouldn’t be using in the company of Kirkwall’s beloved Champion.

“I shit you not,” Hawke retorts in her usual unabashed fashion, not bothering to contain her laughter. “Carried it over last night, wrapped in a blanket.”

“A blanket?” Anders echoes, having a hard time visualizing the scenario. “Fenris? Wasn’t it raining?”

She nods her head and laughs again, a carefree sound. “You should have seen him. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face when I opened the door. She must have been driving him mad.”

Anders checks the kitten’s oversized ears and eyes, smiling to himself when she meows loudly in protest. “Her lungs are healthy, I can tell you that much. Did he say anything, or did he just thrust her at you and go?”

“He never says much,” Hawke answers, her eyebrows drawing together and a frown clouding her delicate features. Anders recognizes the expression as a parody of Fenris’s usual good cheer. “Take this,” she grumbles in the lowest register she can. “It is loud. I understand the mage is fond of cats.”

Anders laughs outright, the sound almost foreign to his ears, and realizes that his face hurts from smiling. Focusing again on the kitten in an attempt to contain himself, he tries not to seem too interested. His hopeless schoolboy crush on a certain brooding elf is likely to be the death of him. “So it was his idea to bring her to me?”

Hawke huffs gently and reaches down to rub behind the kitten’s ears, grinning. “He’s not nearly as gruff as everyone thinks. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think he was concerned about her welfare.”

Anders scoffs and shoots her a look of disbelief. “Right, because Fenris would absolutely trust me with something he cares about.”

“You never know,” Hawke says, looking suddenly distracted, and gives the kitten one last, gentle scritch with blunt fingernails. “I hate to cut this short but I should really go make sure Merrill made it back to the alienage all right. One can only trust so much to a roll of string.”

Anders nods his head and smiles again, running a single finger down the scrawny kitten’s back and trying to abstain from giggling when she presses up against him, a diminutive purr sounding from within her chest. “Thank you for bringing her, Hawke. I’ve missed having a cat around.”

“Don’t thank me,” she refutes, and turns to leave.

By the time the kitten has scarfed down what little salted meat and milk Anders manages to find, the hour is late. The clinic locked down and the lantern extinguished, he’s surprised to hear a gentle knock on the door. Throwing a tunic back on over his bare chest, he makes his way to the front of the space and speaks through the splintered wood that separates him from the rest of Darktown. “Can I help you?” He asks cautiously.

The answer that comes from the other side of the door isn’t what he’s expecting. “It’s me,” an unmistakable voice answers. “Let me in.”

When Anders slides the lock over and pulls open the door, Fenris steps inside without waiting for an invitation, looking perturbed.

“Are you hurt?” Anders asks, looking the other man over for injuries and invading his personal space.

Fenris waves his hands dismissively and makes a chiding sound with his tongue, obviously displeased. “I am fine, mage. I merely came to ensure delivery of something.”

“Delivery?” Answers questions, confused, and then realizes what Fenris is talking about. “You mean the kitten?” He grins. “Yes, she’s here.”

“She?” Fenris asks, raising a single thick brow.

As if on cue, a series of meows sounds from the back of the clinic, the kitten having awakened alone. Tail in the air, she pads forward on petite paws until she stands at Fenris’s feet, yowling incessantly. Anders barely stifles a giggle.

Frowning slightly, Fenris looks down at the cat. “Stop that. I don’t know what you want from me.”

Anders watches, amused, as the cat circles Fenris’s bare feet. “She’s quite taken with you,” he comments after a few moments. Fenris looks at him as if he’s gone mad. Standing as he is, thinking silently to himself that the killer elf-weapon is absolutely adorable when he’s perplexed, he may very well have.

“She’s got a strange way of showing it,” Fenris grumbles, but the corner of his lip twitches in a semblance of a smile.

“She’s very mouthy,” Anders adds, surprised when Fenris smirks at him outright.

“I thought the two of you might get along,” he says wryly, and before Anders can stop himself, he’s leaning in to press his lips to Fenris’s cheek in a quick peck.

When Fenris doesn’t doesn’t move to rip his heart out of his chest, instead stands there blushing, Anders considers it a small victory.


End file.
